


The Escape

by agent85



Series: Imzadi [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: AOS Big Bang, Big Bang Challenge, Canon-Typical Violence, Evil Ward Is Evil-er, F/M, Half-Betazoid!Simmons, Internalized Xenophobia/Racism, Mom and Daughter Feels, Post-Dominion War-era, Prequel, Star Trek AU, Suliban!Hydra, Vulcan!May
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-18 09:20:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4700663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent85/pseuds/agent85
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Star Trek AU. When a group of genetically engineered terrorists threaten the safety of the human race, Lieutenant Jemma Simmons is sent on an undercover mission to find a way to fight back. Getting in was hard enough, but it will take everything Jemma has—her courage, her intelligence, and a few buried abilities—in order to return to the best friend she was forced to leave behind.</p>
<p>Part of the <a href="http://aos-bigbang.livejournal.com/">Agents of SHIELD Big Bang</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The fantastic cover art was done by [deafwizards](http://deafwizards.tumblr.com/)! She has a lot of amazing art, so go ahead and check her out!
> 
> I'd also like to thank my wonderful betas [aretsuna](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Aretsuna/pseuds/Aretsuna) and [ruthedotcom](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ruthedotcom/pseuds/ruthedotcom) for all their help and writing wisdom!
> 
> If you haven't seen Star Trek, don't despair! Here's a short glossary of terms:
> 
>   * Betazoid: Telepathic people from the planet Betazed. They look like Humans with the exception of their irises, which are completely black. They're known for their friendliness and emotional openness.
>   * EV suit: Space suit.
>   * PADD: Personal Access Display Device. Basically, an iPad mini.
>   * Romulan: People from the planet Romulus, and one of the biggest bad guys out there. They have pointed ears, like Vulcans, but are distinct in that they also have brow ridges on their foreheads. The relationship between Romulans and our heroes is so strained that entering Romulan space is considered an act of war (unless, of course, you don’t get caught).
>   * Starfleet: It's the navy of the stars, except in Star Trek, the universe is a pretty peaceful place, and this navy is used mostly for exploration and scientific discovery.
>   * Vulcan: People from the planet Vulcan, who are also telepathic. They appear Human, except for their pointed ears. They are known for their stoicism and reliance on logic. The most famous Vulcan is Spock.
> 


 

**Stardate: 59804.4 (Romulus, 18 minutes before)**

 

Simmons decided, right away, that she was not going to cry.

Crying, she reminded herself, would only impair her eyesight, and she needed command of all her faculties if she was going to live through this.

"You see, Coulson," explained Ward as he pressed the edge of his knife against her throat, "I really was willing to help you. Even after months in your brig. You didn't need to send Simmons." He slid the knife across her skin with care, leaving a cut that was barely deep enough to bleed. "Of course," he continued, "now that you've misplaced her, I'm going to have to ask for someone in exchange if you ever care to see her again."

"You're not getting Skye," Admiral Coulson warned. "You know that. Let my crewman go."

"Your crewman?" He held her so close that she could feel his chest ripple against her back when he laughed. "After all she's done for you, that's all she is? Come on, Coulson. I was on the Bus with you. Simmons, Fitz, and Skye, they're not just subordinates; they're your family. They're my family, too. But love isn't always fair. Sometimes it plays favorites. So, Coulson, the deal is simple: I give you your favorite daughter, and you give me my favorite sister. How does that sound?"

She couldn't help but gulp as she tried to picture the exact placement of Ward's hands. He held the knife in his right, with his arm wrapped around her right shoulder. His left hand was on her sternum, pressing her against him. It was a simple matter of physics, really. Force, matter, and acceleration. As she calculated the angles, she saw Coulson stare Ward down through the viewscreen, an implicit threat transmitted over thousands of light years.

"Lieutenant Simmons is a Starfleet officer, and she has taken an oath to defend and protect the very people you are threatening. She will give her life to uphold that oath, if necessary."

"Oh, is that right?" He shifted behind her, and she thought he must be craning himself over her head. Whatever his aim, he never reached her line of sight. "Is that true, Simmons? Are you willing to stick your neck out for your buddy? Because I heard what you did to Fitz, and I have to say, I'm disappointed in you."

She was able to take one shaky breath as she kept her eyes on the admiral. It would happen any minute now. Any minute. She raised her right arm in a signal of surrender.

"Ward," she choked, "please."

"Oh, Simmons, don't tell me that you've decided to change sides after all. It's too late for that."

His right elbow was in the crook of her arm. "Please," she begged.

"Sorry, peach, but I don't make the rules."

"I'll let you talk to Skye," Coulson interjected, "just . . . you can talk to her. Nothing more."

Ward chuckled. "You want me to gift wrap your precious biochemist in exchange for one conversation? That doesn't seem fair."

Coulson furrowed his brow in thought. "I'll give you five minutes. If Skye chooses to leave after that, well, I won't stop her. That's my final offer."

Ward's arm was heavy on hers, but she held firm. Any minute now.

"And what, I'll wait for a few days before you can arrange a conference? You expect me to keep Simmons safe until then? It's not like I have an escape pod handy."

She took another labored breath as she prepared to do the worst part of all: entering his mind.

"Besides, how long do you think it's going to take before someone realizes that she's gone?"

"Well," Coulson offered, "I assume that you have an exit strategy?"

Her eyes were closed and her mind was open, seeking.

"I always have an exit strategy, Coulson. But it doesn't include her."

He was lying, right? She could feel the anger in him, bubbling hot and directed squarely at the admiral, but the feelings he had towards her were completely different. What was it? Worry? Annoyance?

Guilt?

Yes, guilt was a definite possibility. Finally, something she could use.

Well, one would hope.

The only thing she knew for sure was that due to the seething hatred directed towards Coulson, her captor was only marginally aware of her. She dared to lift her arm up another centimeter.

"It doesn't include her? How do you expect to perform a prisoner exchange without a prisoner?"

"My exit strategy only includes Simmons if I have a guarantee that I'll end up with Skye."

Coulson sighed. "You know, you're really terrible at negotiating."

She tried not to scream when Ward shrugged. "Nobody's perfect."

How long had she been holding her arm up? A full minute? Was he really too distracted to notice?

Coulson's mouth hung open for a while before he closed it with a shake of the head. "I really don't know how to respond to that." She watched his chest heave. "Okay, Ward. Skye is right here with me. The moment I know Simmons is safe, I'll open a secure comm line."

"Well, I suppose that would be a tempting offer, if what you say is true."

Simmons forced herself to breathe in, out, and in.

"It is."

"Well," Ward huffed. "If she's right there, it seems to me that you could let me see her. Just as a show of good faith."

In, out. In, out.

"Not until you put the knife down."

"Not until I'm sure she's on the base with you."

She watched Coulson eye him and sensed the force of Ward returning the glare. For a few, silent moments, she was sure it would never come. In the end, something off screen caught Coulson's attention, and she flexed her left hand as Ward let out a whine.

"Am I boring you?"

Coulson's head whipped forward, but this time his eyes were on her.

"We're in position. Now."

Before Ward could react, she slammed her left foot down on his instep and grabbed his right wrist with her left hand. She did her best to wave her raised arm over his eyes, but when she was unable to pivot, she bit down hard on his arm until he relinquished the space she needed. In one fluid motion, she ducked under his arm, stepped behind him, grabbed the knife, and kicked the back of his knee hard enough to send him sprawling forward. She noted the taste of copper as she bolted for the door.

"You have fourteen minutes, Lieutenant!" Coulson called after her.

Fourteen minutes. She could get to the roof of the Romulan capitol building in fourteen minutes.

Right?

* * *

**Stardate: 59364.1 (Location Unknown, 5 months, 8 days before)**

 

She heard the groan before she recognized that it came from her own throat. It was far too bright, even with the shadow above her, but she knew, at least, that she was lying on her back and . . . alive?

She blinked once, twice, trying to dispel the grogginess and failing. It took her a few seconds before she realized that the shadow was a person.

"You've been sedated. You're on a shuttle, en route to a safe place of mine."

She had to squint at him before she let herself believe that yes, this was Rear Admiral Nick Fury, Commander in Chief of Starfleet. She started to get up by instinct and instantly decided that it was a bad idea.

"Whoa, easy. You've had a rough day."

Rough?

She wondered what he meant until it all came crashing back on her—the Bus, the escape pod, and—

"Fitz!"

She tried to bolt upright, and almost hit the force field above her.

"I said to take it easy, Lieutenant. He's alive. Just barely. I have a full med team that's making sure he stays that way."

She felt a rush of relief run through her, almost completely displacing the panic that made her heart race.

"But you," he continued, "need to stay here, okay? He was without oxygen for a long time, but you saved him."

Simmons gulped. "It was the other way 'round, sir." She tried to blink away the forming tears. "You heard our distress call?"

Fury nodded. "I've been looking for you, Lieutenant. It's been brought to my attention that some of your talents aren't being put to good use."

She was about to ask him what he meant, but when his one eye somehow bore into both of hers, she knew. The look he gave her was one that everyone gave her at one point or another; the black irises were always a dead giveaway. Fury's expression, however, was not accompanied by the usual intrigue. Instead, he frowned down at her.

"Your file says that you were raised on Earth, with Human parents."

"Yes, sir," she confirmed, "my dad and my step-mum."

"And your mother, she was from Betazed?"

Simmons nodded. "She died when I was five. There was an accident."

The more he stared at her, the less she liked it. Any minute now, he would ask the question that everyone asked, and she found herself eager for the other shoe to drop.

"And you were never given the opportunity to develop your telepathic abilities?"

There it was.

Jemma had tried out several explanations over the years, from _it made my step-mum nervous_ to _there were concerns of privacy_ to _we're English_. There was one, however, that seemed to garner the least unpleasant reaction.

"I focused on other areas of study," she explained.

Usually, this was enough to put people at ease, as it painted a picture of a young girl who was too interested in biology and medicine to trifle with mind reading. Fury, however, continued to display concern.

"Your list of accomplishments is very impressive. In fact, it makes you uniquely qualified for an important mission. But it's going to be dangerous, and you're going to need to use all of your talents to have any chance of succeeding. So, as soon as you recover, you'll undergo training to develop your physical and telepathic capabilities."

She had a million questions, but what came out of her mouth was, "I can't, sir."

The glare she received in return gave her goosebumps.

"You are to report to Commander M'Ay for training upon your recovery, and that's an order, Lieutenant. You will complete this mission to the best of your ability."

She raised an eyebrow as nausea flooded through her.

"And what mission is that, sir?"

"I'm sure you know," Fury answered, "that there's a reason most forms of genetic enhancement have been banned."

The haze she woke up with was still lingering over her, and for a moment it seemed like she was back at the Academy, learning about Khan and the Eugenics wars that took place centuries ago. Thousands of lives lost, civilizations crippled, and for what? Some enhanced abilities?

"We've taken a few beatings lately," Fury continued, "all because of an enemy that can hide among us. They can look like us; fool our scans. Right now, we can't fight them. And I need you to figure out why."

Simmons furrowed her brow. "Sir?"

Fury clasped his hands behind his back and looked down on her like a god surveying a sinful world.

"You're going to infiltrate Hydra."

* * *

**Stardate: 59340.7 (Starbase 616, 5 months, 6 days before)**

 

Skye raised an eyebrow when Simmons walked in and sat next to her on the mat. When she couldn't take the silence any longer, Simmons let out a sigh and met her crewmate's eyes.

"What?"

Skye put her hands up in mock surrender. "Whoa, I just didn't know you were training with me. Didn't mean to upset you."

Simmons took in a calming breath and nodded to Skye, who eased her hands down to her lap.

"Wait, I don't think I've ever seen you out of uniform before," Skye observed. Simmons narrowed her gaze.

"Well, I can't train while wearing my uniform, can I?" She tried to level Skye with a challenging glare, but Skye's expression only softened as she leaned back on her hands.

"Look, I'm sorry that you can't be in the infirmary, but if it helps, I don't want to be here, either."

Simmons thought about that for a moment as she felt the ache in her bones. "It doesn't, actually."

She didn't have to look to know that Skye was rolling her eyes, and usually, she could bring herself to care. But for the first time since she set foot in San Francisco that first day, Jemma Simmons thought that maybe she didn't want to be a Starfleet scientist after all. It wasn't like Starfleet had a monopoly on scientific discovery. And, really, did she need to be a scientist? Couldn't she find some uninhabited world somewhere and just be left alone?

Skye used a shoulder to nudge her. "How was your session with M'Ay?"

Simmons did not want to begin _thinking_ about telepathy training, much less talk about it, so she gave Skye a look that made the ensign answer with an, "Oh, come on. It can't be that bad. I'd give anything to have powers like yours."

"If you had powers, you wouldn't want them—trust me. And they're not powers! It's just . . . it's brain chemistry. That's all."

Skye opened her mouth to respond when their instructor entered the room, and they both scrambled to their feet.

"Lieutenant, Ensign," Trip greeted as he strode to the front of the room and struck an authoritative stance. "Welcome to day one."

Skye folded her arms with a pout. "We haven't even _started_ , and I already hate this."

* * *

**Stardate: 59804.4 (Romulus, 14 minutes before)**

 

Simmons ran down the corridor like the Devil himself was chasing her (and he once had), taking a right, a right, and a left. The lights seemed too bright against the white walls, but she kept going, even as her throat ran dry. Determined to stay calm, she focused on tying her breaths to her steps, inhaling and exhaling like this was all there was in the universe, like breathing was the only trick to staying alive. She let her intuition guide her, trusting the schematics she memorized months ago. One slip, one moment of weakness, and they would have her. They would have her, and Fitz would never see her again. She kept going, breath by breath, focused on the success of her mission.

If she failed, she could never explain, never apologize for lying, and Fitz would hate her forever.


	2. Chapter 2

**Stardate: 32694.9 (Earth, 27 years, 1 month, and 20 days before)**

 

_Dear Little One,_

_Your father and I have yet to decide on a name for you, but I think we're getting close. I keep telling him that we should give you a Betazoid first name, since you'll have a Human surname. But, I have to admit, I am becoming partial to some of his suggestions. He may have his way after all._

_You're a lot like your father. Did you know that I can tell that already? I know you so well, and you've yet to open your eyes or take your first breath. I know many mothers who do not enjoy pregnancy nearly as much as I do, and some days, I understand why. But how can I not cherish every moment I spend with you? You need so much, and yet you ask for so little. It is such a privilege to be one with a soul as kind and brave as you._

_I want you to know that I have had a life filled with love, and yet, I learned what love truly was when you came into being. I love you with every piece of my heart, and every part of my soul. I will love you even when they tear you away from me. I will love watching you grow up into whatever it is you choose to grow up into. I will love you until my last breath, and quite possibly beyond._

_Little One, you are grown up now. I want you to know that you were loved. You were loved before you were born, before you even had a heartbeat. You are loved now, by me, and by your father, and hopefully by many others._

_You are so easy to love, my darling._

* * *

**Stardate: 59591.4 (Romulus, 2 months, 17 days before)**

 

The book seemed to taunt her from across the room, even though she knew it was at the very bottom of the one bag left unpacked. She closed her eyes and could smell the peppermint of her father's study, could hear the only four words M'Ay uttered during their entire untimely visit ("Good tea; nice house"), could sense the indignation silently broadcasted by her step-mother as Jemma held the book in her hands for the very first time. She'd thrown the leather-bound volume into the bag like the cover was made of hot coals, and hadn't touched it since. But today, after working (under orders) to promote the cause of the enemy, something in her heart made her cross the room and dig it out. She held it in her hands for a moment, more confident now that no eyes were watching her, and felt that there definitely was some kind of warmth emanating from it, but not a physical kind. No, it was more like a feeling, something that went through her fingertips and into her heart, something that seemed oddly . . . familiar. Whatever it was, she didn't like it. Still, she couldn't keep herself from opening the cover and tracing the ink that spelled out her name.

This was the only thing she had left from her mother, her true mother, the woman who gave her the ability that she was still learning how to use. The journal, her father had said, was meant for her to read, so what if it held the key to her telepathic potential? M'Ay had only been able to teach her the Vulcan methods of mind-reading, which generally required physical touch, but Betazoids were capable of sensing emotions from hundreds of meters, and sometimes kilometers away. If she could tap into that, maybe she would be able to glean more information from her supervisor, or perhaps discover the identity of the muckety-mucks upstairs. Maybe she'd even be able to discover which Romulan senators were in league with Hydra.

Maybe, if she unlocked this part of herself, this whole horrific mess would be worth it.

Because as much as she tried to stay cheerful, she was keenly aware of the part of her that was missing, the part that was really Fitz—and which, by all rights, she no longer deserved to have. How he must hate her right now, for leaving.

The empty space that used to house Fitz was now filled with guilt, and it seemed to be at odds with whatever it was that was coming from the book. Still, she took a deep breath and opened the cover.

Whatever pain this book had in store for her, she was sure she deserved it.

* * *

**Stardate: 59415.4 (Starbase 616, 4 months, 20 days before)**

 

Advances in medicine had made even muscle soreness a thing of the past, but Jemma chose to keep the pain. It seemed fair, somehow. As she tried to finish the last lap, it was difficult to run with the same grace as Skye. It was even harder when Trip instructed them to sprint the last ten meters. When she crossed the finish line and skidded to a stop, she doubled over as a wave of nausea overtook her.

"You alright?"

Jemma looked up to see the concern on Skye's face, answering with a forced grin and a breathless nod. Skye was out of breath, too, and glistening with sweat.

"So," Skye whined, "that was awful."

"But you improved your time," countered Trip. He gave each of them a hand towel and a glass of water, which Simmons drank greedily. "I hope you enjoyed today's run, because we're doing uphill sprints tomorrow."

She rolled her eyes at that, taking another gulp of cool water and relishing the way it felt going down. It seemed like the only bright spot in a long stretch of gray, a small moment of relief in an unending, torturous trudge. Her glum train of thought went off-track when she caught Trip's raised eyebrow.

"Look, Simmons," he admonished, "you need to take this seriously. Hydra's genetic enhancements make the deadliest creatures we've ever seen. You're small, so you can fit in tiny spaces, but they can shapeshift through crevices. There's nowhere you will go that they can't follow you, and due to their invisibility, half the time you won't even know if they're there. But there's one modification they haven't cracked yet, and until you get better at telepathy, it's going to be your only advantage."

Simmons gave Skye a sidelong glance. "And what's that?"

"Speed."

"Speed," she deadpanned. "I can barely keep up with Mack when we're walking down the corridors."

She heard Trip take in a breath as he folded his arms and looked down at her. "Well, you're short, which gives you a smaller stride, but it also means that you're carrying less weight. And if you work on increasing your endurance and flexibility, it'll be enough for you to outrun the best of them. You'd better do it, too, because until you get through their shielding, you'll be completely on your own against people you can't fight."

Those words landed on her chest like a punch and, not for the first time, she felt truly and utterly alone. It seemed that there was a weight settling over her lungs, pushing down so the air couldn't relieve her. For a few minutes, she'd forgotten him in the pain and the drive to finish. But she could never forget, not for a moment. She studied the floor, unable to meet Trip's eyes.

"Yes, sir," she replied.

* * *

**Stardate: 59804.4 (9 minutes before)**

 

Her lungs were burning, but she didn't stop. She needed to find a way up, and the crouching maintenance worker gave her the perfect opportunity. Before he even looked up to see her, she leapt on his back and jumped, finding purchase on a railing with one hand as she punched the ceiling panel out of the way, got a firm grip, and pulled herself up. The space between floors was tiny, but so was she, and she had just enough space to crawl on her belly without hitting the force field that buzzed above her. It was three meters north, five meters east, and at any moment she would get to—there! The support beams were designed to pass through the force field and to the floor below, but according to the latest intel, this one had been damaged in a previous attack. She couldn't help but smile as she saw the way it bent, leaving a small hole that was just wide enough for her to crawl through. She held her breath as she pushed herself up through the gap towards the floor panel above, then waited for a few seconds for passing footfalls before she pushed the panel up and out of her way, emerging on the next floor.

As she took a second to get her bearings, Simmons tapped the back of her left hand.

"Simmons to Trip. Do you read?"

It was then she heard the sound of them behind her, and her heart stopped for a moment as she realized they'd followed her through the floor, melting into puddles that dripped upwards through cracks. Response or no response, if she waited for them reshape, it would be too late.

She had no choice but to burst into a sprint.

"Trip," she panted, "are you there?"

"C'mon, girl," came Trip's voice through the comm, "you think we'd miss this?"

She couldn't help but grin ear to ear, even as she heard slithering turn to thundering behind her.

_Hold on._

"We?"

* * *

**Stardate: 59363.7 (Uncharted space, 5 months, 8 days before)**

 

"Red alert!"

The claxons started the moment Ward gave the command, and Simmons felt her heart race.

"Are you sure we can't override the self-destruct? I'm sure Fitz and I could—"

The lieutenant commander eyed her with an emotionless stare. "Garrett's locked us out of the computer."

"But if we could just take a look—"

"There's no time, _Lieutenant_."

The doors swished behind her as Fitz entered the bridge in a huff. The engineer looked to Simmons, then Ward.

"Why are we about to explode?"

Simmons frowned. "Garrett's tying up loose ends," she explained, "but we should see if we can—"

"No," commanded Ward, "you two are getting into an escape pod, and that's an order."

"Warning," chimed the computer, "self-destruct sequence has been initiated. Warp core overload in twelve minutes."

"Come on," Ward prodded, "I'll escort you. Hurry!"

As they raced down the corridors, Simmons couldn't help but think that it had all happened so fast—Garrett's betrayal, Ward's capture, and their failed attempt to rescue him. At least in the escape pod, they'd be—

"You go," Ward ordered, "no, not _that_ escape pod, _this_ one. It just got a refit. I'll go back, see if there's something I can do."

She felt Fitz turn his head in synchrony with her, and he let out a, "What?" in the same moment she huffed an, "Excuse me?"

Ward's eyes were like steel, and something in her knew the battle was already lost. "I'm in command. Captain goes down with the ship."

She and Fitz argued together, questions and accusations falling from their lips in waves and crashing on deaf ears. Before she knew it, the door was sealed, and Ward was ejecting them into space.

They spent a whole, stupid minute thinking he saved them before the Bus jolted off at light speed, and the pod's structural integrity failed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Stardate: 59541.8 (Starbase 616, 3 months, 4 days before)**

 

It was strange to watch someone surgically insert technology into one’s own hand. Jemma wondered if her curiosity really was all that morbid, since it seemed like she should have a right to see the inside of herself, if anybody did. Trip worked quickly, and before she knew it, the communicator was in place, and Trip had sealed the incision.

"I was sure you would have done this at least once," he admitted. She shrugged in return.

"I haven't actually been in the field that long, you know."

"But you do know how it works?"

Jemma nodded, then answered by tapping the back of her hand to activate the device.

"Simmons to Skye."

"Skye here." The doors behind them swished open, and Skye entered the infirmary. "What? I wasn't going to let you go without saying goodbye."

Simmons smiled, allowing Skye to envelop her in a hug. But after a few seconds, the hug between friends turned into a more desperate embrace as Skye clutched Jemma tightly against her.

"I'm going to be fine, Skye," Jemma soothed, pulling back to meet the ensign's eyes. "I've been well-trained."

Skye smiled at that, despite the tears forming in her eyes.

"Did you, uh . . ." She rubbed her eyes. "Did you tell him?"

A lump formed in Jemma's throat as she recalled the look on her best friend's face. "Yes. Well, in a way. Coulson wouldn't let me tell him the whole truth, but he knows I'll be away for a while."

"Hopefully not too long," Trip offered, "if you use your voodoo on 'em."

The words were delivered with Trip's signature charm, but it didn't stop the anxiety from spreading through her chest and forcing her to focus on her breathing. Two months of instruction from Trip and M'Ay, and she almost felt like she was getting worse at all of this. Or, at least, she knew enough to know that she didn't know anything.

Her fear must have crept onto her face, because both Trip and Skye looked at her with a mix of concern and compassion.

"You'll be fine," assured Trip, "as long as you keep doing the exercises I taught you. Especially the pull ups and the sprints."

She knew that he was asking for a promise, and she was about to give him one when Skye interrupted with, "You know, we've been working out all the time, but I'm not actually losing weight. Not that I'm complaining, just . . . isn't that how it's supposed to work? I can barely fit my pants over my calves these days."

"You're gaining muscle," Trip explained, "and it usually takes a while for the body to show any definition."

"That's because you can't burn a specific area of fat by exercising a particular muscle," Simmons added. "Where you lose fat is largely controlled by genetics."

Trip nodded in agreement. "That's right, which is particularly useful for you, Lieutenant."

Simmons cocked her head at him. "How do you mean?"

Trip gave her his signature smile. "Hydra won't know how strong you are."

* * *

**Stardate: 59804.4 (6 minutes before)**

 

She was faster than the wind, faster than light, and her feet knew just where to take her. Hydra didn't know her route, and they were heavy; they were muscles and pebbled skin, and she was light as atmosphere. With every turn, they got farther behind, and she smiled when she got to the security point. Not even their compound eyes could track her now.

* * *

**Stardate: 59766.6 (Romulus, 14 days before)**

 

She almost screamed before a hand slipped over her mouth to silence her. The Romulan guard turned her to face him, and then he . . .

Smiled?

When the hand retreated, it took her a moment to understand why the smile seemed so familiar.

"Admiral Coulson?"

He barely looked like himself at all, and she realized that he'd been surgically altered with pronounced brow ridges and pointed ears. He definitely passed as a Romulan, but he winked at her with the Human warmth she'd come to expect from him.

"Did you think I wouldn't find out?"

Simmons raised an eyebrow and waited.

"The mess hall," he clarified. "It serves Romulan ale with every meal? What kind of diet is that?"

A smile spread across her face as she gave him a one-shouldered shrug. "Well, you told me to blend in." She said it with warmth, with a sort of frivolity that she hadn't felt in a long time. But then, it was hard to keep a straight face when Coulson was sporting a full, black head of hair with straight fringe and long sideburns.

"Why, Simmons," Coulson prodded, "you know it's illegal."

She gave him another shrug. "I only use it for medicinal purposes."

It was a struggle to keep the smile in place when the truth of it rang through her. But if Coulson noticed, he made no indication. Instead, he attempted to cook her a real meal ("What, you don't even have so much as a hot plate in your quarters?") before they decided it was easier to munch on the raw ingredients as she told him all she'd learned.

"Donnie Gill? From the Academy?" Somehow, his faux Romulan physiology was funnier when he raised his eyebrows in surprise. "I knew that he was a gifted scientist, but you're saying he's a _gifted_ scientist."

Simmons nodded as she swallowed a bite of carrot. "Donnie was born with an intellectual disability that would have become painfully apparent by the time he started school. Perhaps his parents were embarrassed?" She took in a breath and let it out as a sigh. "All I know is that they took him to Adigeon Prime for accelerated critical neural pathway formation."

Coulson furrowed his augmented brow. "Which is also illegal."

"And highly dangerous, which is why it isn’t done on other planets," Simmons added. "It's a method of DNA resequencing. It’s been banned because of the side effects, which are quite severe. Most patients experience a dramatic increase in mental and physical ability, but they are also at great risk of developing a wide range of psychological disorders." She shook her head. "It may explain why Donnie had such trouble making friends. Still, from what I've read, Donnie's symptoms are considered mild."

The admiral took a bite of kale and chewed it thoughtfully. "And do you think that's what's happening to Hydra agents?"

"It very well could be," Simmons admitted, "and it certainly explains Ward and Raina. It's possible that they're interested in Donnie because they're using the same procedures that were used on him. But it's—it's just speculation. They're keeping me sequestered in the downstairs lab. I usually advance much more quickly, but they seem intent on wasting my talents."

Coulson regarded her for a silent moment.

"And your abilities," he finally asked, "they're not helping?"

Simmons suppressed an eye roll. "They won't let me close enough to anyone of value for it to be of any practical use."

"So you still need your, uh, your subjects to be in close proximity?"

She ducked her head and closed her eyes, acutely aware of what he'd almost called them.

"At present, yes."

"Well," he replied, "I'm sure you're doing your best."

Her eyes darted towards his reassuring smile, but it took no root in her heart.

"Unfortunately, I'm going to need you to do even better before your extraction."

Her head snapped upward. "Extraction?"

"Yes." Coulson took a napkin to dab at the corners of his mouth. "We've had a problem at the base. Ward escaped."

She found herself bolting upright, almost overturning their makeshift table. There was no way it was true, and if it was, how was it not the first thing he told her? Her heart started racing, and she started pacing the room in a desperate need to expend a sudden burst of energy.

"How did he—how could he possibly—"

Coulson shrugged. "There was a prisoner exchange. It didn't work out."

" _Didn't work out_?" She was livid then, clutching her fists in an attempt to keep them from flying. "How could you just lose someone like that?"

"The point is," Coulson persisted, "that we think he's coming here. We intend to get you out before he does."

She stopped at that, as the heat within her chilled.

"But I . . . I've only just _started_."

Coulson appeared unmoved. "It's too dangerous. It's going to take us a while to get the extraction plan in place, so you have two weeks to get all the intel you can."

Two weeks. Simmons took a deep breath, and let it out. _Two weeks_.

"You'll need to break through the barrier at exactly fifteen hundred and sixteen hours, fourteen days from now. Do you remember your escape route?"

Simmons nodded, her mind buzzing with half-made plans for her final days of espionage. When she looked up, she saw that Coulson was preparing to leave.

"Before you go," she offered, crouching to retrieve the data crystal from under a floorboard, "these are the specs on the device I told you about. Hopefully it'll be enough to be of use."

She dropped the crystal into his palm and watched as he swallowed it.

"They don't check the guards the same way they check the scientists," he explained with a grimace. "You know how you're supposed to carry any additional intel on your way out?"

"Yes, sir," she affirmed with a nod. Coulson smiled.

"Good."

"Sir?" The word shot out of her before she could stop it, and she felt the sound of it reverberate against the walls. "How . . . how is everyone?"

His expression softened, and she thought she saw a sliver of sorrow in his eyes. "Fitz is okay," he answered, "he's hanging in there."

Simmons ducked her head, embarrassed and oddly relieved at the way he saw through her. She found herself letting out a breath as images of a recovered Fitz started flowing through her imagination. But when Coulson shook her hand and left, she sensed a flash of something she didn't understand. It took her a moment before it clicked, and then her heart stopped.

Coulson was lying.

* * *

**Stardate: 59731.2 (Romulus, 27 days before)**

 

Simmons laid down on her bed with a sigh as her fingers traced the subcutaneous transponder on the other hand. She was so often tempted just to tap it, and sometimes she did, knowing that the signal couldn't penetrate the shielding above. This time, she closed her eyes and imagined hearing his voice.

_"Fitz to Simmons."_

_"I'm here, Fitz."_

_"You are? Are you okay? Please be okay, Jemma."_

She never knew how to respond, not even when the conversation occurred, as it often did, in her dreams. But then, as she felt the guilt well up in her, and she was overcome by waves of loneliness and loss, she finally had words for him.

_"I'm not okay, Fitz. I miss you. I worry about you. And sometimes, I miss you so much that I wonder if I'll ever be okay again."_

When she felt a tear slide a solitary path down the side of her face, she decided to fill the gaping hole in her heart. She shifted over onto her stomach, until she was half-dangling off the bed, so she could lift up the floor panel and extract the journal that she'd hidden underneath.

Just touching the leather exterior was a huge relief, and as she pulled herself up into a sitting position, she hugged the book against her chest.

She was loved, once, long before she had a rank or an education. She was loved before she was Jemma, when she was just a small bit of flesh wriggling inside a womb, and when she was brought into the world, pink and screaming, and when she was small, frail, and helpless. And it seemed to her, even as she traced her fingers down the journal's spine, that her emergence into life brought a lot of hope, that her mere existence was a cause for celebration because someone believed that so much good could come from her. But maybe Fitz no longer had that kind of faith in her. Maybe, through fumbling incompetence, she had broken that precious trust of his. Maybe he was too magnanimous in trusting her at all.

But the book still had faith in her, and always would, because the pages had been imbued with an infinite, immortal love that she couldn't really understand.

Jemma held the book for a long while, letting herself have a proper cry, letting herself feel loved and hurt and even betrayed somehow, until she had no tears left. When her eyelids fluttered, and she found the strength to put the journal back in its secret place, she imagined herself wrapped in a mother's arms as she drifted off to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Stardate: 36070.6 (Earth, 23 years, 8 months, and 25 days before)**

_Dear Jemma,_

_This morning, I made the mistake of turning my back on you for a minute, and you somehow managed to get into the Ktarian pudding I was saving for dinner tonight. It's supposed to evaporate in your mouth, but it turns out that it also evaporates when stomped on by a little girl's foot. You were screaming in such delight that I simply had to join in the fun. After we cleaned it all up (even now, you like to have things just so after you make a mess), I let you help me make a new batch. You were so interested in measuring out ingredients that I wonder if you'll grow up to be a chef._

_I learned a Human phrase today: "when in Rome." I think Rome is a place, but I don't know where it is, or if it has any historical significance. It might be fictional; I'll have to remember to ask your father. As far as I can tell, when you go to this Rome, you have to try new things. So, Jemma, I hope you take the time to when in Rome. I hope you when in Rome until you have truly experienced at least a small sliver of the joys this existence has to offer. There is so much out there, my darling, and you have always been an explorer._

_P.S. I'm sure by now, your father has told you about the Narnia fiasco. That story is not nearly as amusing as he thinks it is._

* * *

**Stardate: 59804.3 (Romulus, 1 hour, 27 minutes before)**

It appeared that the data transfer was determined to proceed at a snail's pace, no matter how often Simmons checked on it. She tried desperately to not bounce on her toes in impatience, reminding herself that she was still surrounded by the enemy. She tried not to remember that this was the culmination of months of hard work and unspeakable sacrifice. Instead, she made a valiant effort at looking like she was performing yet another genetic analysis.

"Miss Simmons! I thought you'd be at lunch."

She whipped around to see Mr. Turgeon poring over a PADD, putting Simmons face to face with his bald spot.

"I was just about to go, sir," she explained. It wasn't a lie, not at all, but it certainly felt like one. Simmons let her hand creep slowly over the data crystal until it was, hopefully, completely out of view. She wasn't ready when he looked up to meet her eyes.

"That bad, huh?"

Simmons blinked.

"I'm sorry?"

She wasn't quite prepared for the smirk that spread across her supervisor's face.

"Look, I know that this isn't the most, uh, ideal work environment, and it doesn't help that there are some people here that I wouldn't mind strangling with a piano wire."

He reached a hand towards her and for a second, time slowed to a crawl as a chill ran down her spine. This could be it, the moment she trained for. This could be the point where it all fell apart. She could almost hear Trip's voice in her ear, telling her that learning to fight took time, so he had to teach her to cut and run. But the words started to jumble as panic overwhelmed her, and as the hand continued its trajectory toward her neck, she found she could not move.

She stood still as a statue when Mr. Turgeon's hand clapped her on the shoulder.

"Don't worry," he assured her, "my lips are sealed." He removed his hand and offered her a shrug. "Not that it's my place to judge. We're all here to escape something or another." He buried his nose back in his PADD. "Carry on."

It wasn't until he was completely out of sight that she dared to look over and see that the data transfer was, finally, complete. She let out a held breath and took another one in for strength as she prepared for what must happen next.

In, out, in, out.

It was a genius device, really, and she couldn't help but admire the design of the data crystal casing as she scanned to room. When she was sure she was alone, she removed her lab coat and pulled the collar of her shirt down until her shoulder was exposed.

In, out, in, out.

She really wasn't sure if she screamed.

Simmons bit down so hard on her lip that it almost bled, but once it was over, she shook her hand in front of her and tried to calm down. The data and the casing were now nowhere Hydra or the Romulans could find them, and that, she told herself, was all that mattered.  

Jemma Simmons was a scientist, and a scientist was nothing without data.

It was that realization that dulled the pain to an ache, and she found herself smiling as she strode out of the lab. The day's ale had been well-earned.

She barely made it around the corner before a large hand clamped over her mouth, and another pressed a blade against her neck.

"Hey there, Simmons," greeted Ward. "Long time, no see."

* * *

**Stardate: 59804.4 (Romulus, 7 minutes before)**

She tapped the sequence one more time, but was only rewarded with an angry sound as Romulan symbols flashed in red.

"The code is wrong."

"It's the only code I've got. Try it again."

"Trip, I've put it in three times, and I'm telling you it's wrong! I can't open the door."

"Hold up, Simmons; I'm seeing a hostile headed your way. Armed and unenhanced."

She was about to ask if they'd upgraded the sensors, but instead took a step back and turned as she heard the footsteps, preparing for the arrival with a defensive posture. When the guard rounded the corner and shot, she was ready to leap out of the way to let the disruptor blast hit the control panel. She grinned when the doors opened.

"Oh, thank you!" she called behind her as she ducked another blast and kept running.

* * *

**Stardate: 59549.6 (Outside the Romulan Neutral Zone, 3 months, 1 day before)**

"Thank you," repeated M'Ay, as if the words felt strange in her mouth.

"For training me, of course," Simmons clarified. "I know I wasn't the best student, but I hope I at least—"

M'Ay silenced her with a single eyebrow.

"Since I was not your ideal teacher, I find your conclusion highly illogical."

Simmons looked over the commander's stoic expression and was unable to suppress her grin.

"You were a great teacher," she countered, ducking her head.

"I do not need to remind you of the difference in brain chemistry between your people and mine."

 _No_ , Simmons thought, _it's as plain as your pointed ears_.

"Is it really like they say," she heard herself ask, "that you need that training in order to keep from going mad?"

She felt a cold stab of fear when M'Ay's eyes examined her.

"It is true," the commander began, "that Vulcans must control their emotions in order to avoid the violent mistakes of our ancestors."

Jemma felt the corner of her mouth twitch as she thought. "I can't imagine having such unusually strong emotions and then forcing yourself to repress them. It sounds like a special kind of hell."

“If there are self-made purgatories," mused M'Ay, "then we all have to live in them. Mine can be no worse than someone else's.”

Jemma took a moment to ponder these words and found herself staring at her lap. Her own emotions had been no trifle to contend with, and most times it felt like she was full enough to burst.

"M'Ay," she asked, mostly to soothe the anxiety that was overtaking her heart, "can you tell me where exactly we're going?"

There was a moment of silence before M'Ay gave a solemn nod.

"We're headed on a course to Romulus. We've discovered that Hydra's headquarters are located beneath the Romulan capitol building."

Simmons mouth hung open.

"Romulus? We're crossing the neutral zone?"

M'Ay nodded. "You'll have to memorize the building schematics in order to prepare for your extraction."

Simmons was about to state her disbelief when she decided that it made more sense than any other scenarios she'd thought of herself.

"So, I'm not only infiltrating Hydra, I'm doing it under the nose of the greatest enemy we've ever had?"

M'Ay nodded. "That is correct."

Simmons scrubbed her face with her hands and groaned.

"Why is it always Romulans?"

* * *

**Stardate: 59804.4 (Romulus, 2 minutes before)**

"You're not gonna make it."

"Yes, I will."

"No, you won't. You've got less than two minutes to get here, and you're two levels down. You need to take the shortcut."

"If I take the shortcut, they'll know I'm here!"

"Trust me, Simmons; they know."

She stopped cold, just outside the stained glass windows and took a breath to steady herself.

"C'mon, Simmons. Sometimes, you just have to punch your way through."

She closed her eyes. "Okay."

Before she could change her mind, she put her arms up in front of her and crashed into the glass, shattering it to pieces as she fell into the senate chamber. Senators carried universal translators, didn't they? Even on their homeworld?

"I'm not an assassin!" she shouted as she ran down the steps to the senate floor, then up the steps on the other side. She could see as well as feel how the senators were frozen in fear as she raced to the other end of the room. "So sorry to bother you!"

She didn't let their gasps stop her as she crashed through another pane of stained glass and kept going until she was safely in the turbolift. She pulled a few large shards of glass out of her sleeve as she caught her breath.

"How much time did I save?"

"I think you're gonna make it."


	5. Chapter 5

**Stardate: 59804.4 (Romulus, 1 minute before)**

 

Somehow, they found her just as she thought she was in the clear.

She was standing on the roof of the capitol building, overlooking the landscape of Romulus as the twin planet Remus hung dark in the sky. The capitol city was a breathtaking sight, a vast urban center that stretched farther than she could see, bustling with lives that knew nothing of her or the threat she carried. And the sun! What a wonder it was to finally see sunlight again, to feel it on her skin and watch it cascade through the leaves of rooftop trees. She was so caught up in it that she almost didn't hear the footsteps behind her, and she turned to see his disruptor pointed at her heart.

He was still reforming, and though his head hadn't quite made it to his shoulders, she knew the grin he'd wear. Within seconds he was there: green, solid, and smirking.

"Now, that was impressive," Ward called out, "you managed to outwit most of them, but you forget that I know how the captain thinks."

"Admiral," Simmons corrected, keeping her breathing steady.

Soon. They'd be here soon.

Ward took one step forward, then another, and she wondered if he thought he had time. Of course, the disruptor meant that distance didn't matter, but if he got close enough, maybe she could—

A blow struck him from behind, and Ward lurched forward, almost catching his balance before another blow sent him sprawling. It was only then that she saw his attacker, a tall, dark-haired Hydra agent. She strode toward Simmons with intent, carrying a sort of rod in one hand, and in the other . . .

"Donnie!"

The cadet thrashed in the Hydra agent's grip, and she could see that he was crying. She wasn't sure what to do, wasn't trained for this, but maybe if she could read her enemy's poker face, she could come up with a plan that would let her and Donnie live for another thirty seconds.

By the time the woman closed the gap between them, Simmons realized that there was something else she _could_ read.

Before the woman could strike her, Simmons lunged forward and grabbed the wrist of the hand that held the rod, desperately searching for a pulse, for goosebumps, for anything. She expected to be thrown aside, but the woman held still, and in a moment, she found access to a mind buzzing with courage and . . . compassion? She let the wrist go and gaped at the woman, who towered above her like a statue.

"It's okay, Donnie," Simmons finally breathed, "she's on our side. We can trust her." As she reassured her friend, she looked into the agent's—no, _officer's_ —eyes, and saw the way they gleamed as the woman gave her a nod.

Finally, something was working for, instead of against her.

"Wait," Donnie asked, "where's Ward?"

Simmons looked behind him towards the place he'd fallen, but nothing was there.

But there was, she realized, a rustling of air that came from behind her, and though she couldn't see him, she knew Ward had pounced.

She started to scream, an obvious and inevitable mistake. But just as the breath left her lungs, she finally heard a rumbling in the sky above. What she didn't expect, however, was the piercing screech that came with it, enough that she, Donnie, and the stranger had to clamp their hands to their ears to stop the pain. But the sound didn't just affect them, because she watched as Ward fell, as if thrown on the ground, turning visible and then molding into his original Human form.

The screeching stopped, and she turned to see the shuttle—the perfect, _beautiful_ shuttle—barreling towards them. Simmons turned back to Ward, who had found his disruptor and shot, but before the blast of energy could reach her, her molecules dissolved.

* * *

**Stardate: 59363.7 (Uncharted space, 5 months, 8 days before)**

 

"Warning," droned the computer, "hull breach in three minutes."

Jemma's heart sank as both she and Fitz stopped working at once. She turned to meet his eyes.

"Three minutes?"

He shook his head at her. "That gives us just enough time to put on the EV suits. Come on."

He was tugging at her, trying to get her in the rear of the pod, but she slapped his hand away.

"Fitz! There has to be another way."

He turned to face her with a look she'd never seen before, a kind of defeated determination. "There probably is, Jemma, but we don't have the time."

She took a breath and narrowed her gaze. His words made sense, but there was something else, something about the way he stood and the look in his eye that gave her pause. "Fitz, I—"

"It was your idea," he shot back.

"Yes, I know, but I didn't think—"

"Warning: hull breach in two minutes, thirty seconds."

When he met her eyes again, she knew she'd lost.

"Jemma, we've got to hurry."

They put on the suits quickly, and just as she was about to ask, Fitz produced a tether that latched her suit to his. She couldn't resist the need to check his suit and make sure that everything was on properly, and he did the same for her.

"Warning: hull breach is imminent."

Fitz offered his hand, and she held it as the promised explosion finally came. A blow came from behind her, wrenching his hand away, and she searched for it as the fire burned out, and the darkness consumed them.

"Fitz?"

"Right here."

"I can't see you. Fitz?"

They were floating in space, in nothingness, but she felt a tug near her hip, and she fell backward into him. His hands grasped at her helmet, turning her around to face him. The moment he came into view, she grabbed at him, pulling him close. It was only then that she felt a sense of calm wash over her, and she reminded herself that the distress call had been sent, and rescue was sure to be on its way. Of course, when she remembered the reason they were in need of rescue, her blood began to boil.

"Ward's one of them," she concluded, "he's Hydra."

Fitz's eyes blew wide open. "What? How could you think that?"

She rolled her eyes. "He knew the escape pod was damaged. He left us to die."

"Well," Fitz countered, "he had to put us somewhere. The ship was about to explode."

"And how convenient was it that it didn't!" Simmons shook her head. "No, Ward could have overridden the computer at any—"

"Warning: oxygen level at ninety-five millibars."

For some reason, she looked down at her suit, as if the answers could be found there. But when she realized that the warning had come, not from her suit, but through the comm, she looked up to see sad eyes.

"Fitz, what did you do?"

He ducked his head, but she could do more than just see his guilt, she could feel it coming off him in waves. When he finally looked up, his cheeks were wet with tears.

"The oxygen tank had a leak," he muttered. "I tried to seal it, but it won't hold."

"Fitz!"

"Yours is fine. Don't worry; you'll have plenty of time."

"Fitz. Fitz! Look at me." She waited until his eyes met hers. "You . . . you knew? You did it on purpose?"

"I couldn't live if you didn't," he breathed.

"Well, I feel the same way. So, how do we fix it?"

“We’re not discussing it, okay? I just . . . you’ll be okay. That’s all that matters.”

Her mind whirled as her own tears started to fall. Had Fitz gotten into a suit knowing it would suffocate him?

"Jemma . . ."

No. No it wasn't happening. It couldn't happen. They were FitzSimmons; they solved problems together, and if she didn't have him, then . . .

"Why would you make me do this? You're my best friend in the quadrant!"

It was a question and an accusation all at once, and it shot out of her like molten lava, but her heart still burned. This was a betrayal worse than Ward's and she couldn't bear it.

"Yeah," Fitz answered, taking a labored breath, "and you're more than that, Jemma." He took a gasp of air, and so did she. "But I couldn't find the courage to tell you. So please, let me show you."

"Warning: oxygen level at seventy-one millibars."

It seemed that she was drowning in tears, and she thought that this was when her life truly started to unravel, because there was a warmth about him that she was only starting to recognize, and how could that have escaped her notice?

Her thoughts fell apart when his eyes fluttered shut, and she found herself screaming.

"Fitz? Fitz! Stay with me! Fitz!"

"Jemma?"

"FITZ!"

He was fading, and by some cruel trick, she'd been given a front row seat. She pulled him as close as she could, and it seemed like the laws of the universe no longer applied, because they were never meant to be without each other. When he stopped responding to her pleas, she had the strange desire to kiss him on the cheek, on the forehead, to shower him with affection in a vain attempt to revive him. But there were two helmets and two suits standing in her way, and she could grab onto him, but she couldn't hold him.

It was then, out of sheer panic and desperation, that she broke the greatest rule of them all.

She tried to read him.

And as they floated in nothingness, she called out to him with her mind, searching for something, anything of his to hold onto.

* * *

**Stardate: 59804.4 (Romulus, 15 seconds before)**

 

She materialized in the shuttle with a jolt, and she found herself careening into familiar arms. She was too afraid at first, but then she simply had to look up to see a pair of blue, Human eyes looking back at her. Fitz helped her get upright without breaking eye contact, and she thought she felt a flutter of emotion within him, but when his arms retreated to his sides, his feelings went with them. She opened her mouth to speak when a voice came from behind her.

"How did you know?"

Simmons turned to the voice. "I'm sorry?"

The not-Hydra agent looked down at her with a look that was smug, but also . . . amused? Simmons hadn't decided when the woman offered a hand for Simmons to shake.

"Lieutenant Commander Bobbi Morse," she explained with a smile, "how did you know I wasn't Hydra?"

Simmons took the proffered hand and sucked in a deep breath.

* * *

**Stardate: 59804.5 (Romulus, The Moment)**

 

"I'm half-Betazoid," Simmons answered, and for the very first time, she felt a sense of pride welling up in her, filling her chest with a fire she'd never known. Simmons looked from Morse, to Donnie, and to Fitz. "I'm an empath," she clarified, and somehow, the fire burned brighter.


	6. Chapter 6

**Stardate: 59804.5 (Romulan space, 1 minute after)**

 

"You're covered in, um, in . . . in glass!"

The first words from Fitz came out in spurts, but Simmons was surprised that he spoke at all. She was still surprised he was even _here_. And his hand was shaking, clearly, but there was something else about him that seemed very wrong.

"What? Lemme take a look."

Trip set the autopilot and was hovering over her in seconds, but she found herself uninterested in the hands on her face as she wondered what was going on in the mind of the man who stood behind them.

"Simmons, when you jump through glass, you _jump through glass_ ," Trip observed, his expression serious as he looked over, she assumed, dozens of tiny cuts along the sides of her face. "At least you wore long sleeves."

"And," she reminded him, "I remembered to cover my eyes." She gave him a smile that widened when he beamed at her.

"You must have had a good instructor," he teased, his eyes retaining a twinkle as his mouth pressed into a line. Trip turned to grab a medkit Fitz handed to him, opening the case to reveal an array of medical instruments that usually made Simmons feel very comfortable. "Unfortunately, I have to open you up before I can patch you back up again."

Trip sent her a questioning look, and she pointed to the small cavity between her left humerus and clavicle, giving her permission with a hesitant nod. Without another word, he used a hypospray to inject her with a local anesthetic (anetrizine, Simmons guessed) and made a careful incision with a laser scalpel. When he used tweezers to retrieve the data crystal, he grinned from ear to ear and placed the fingernail-sized crystal on a tray with care.

"You can't imagine how much it hurt to put that in," she groaned.

"Well, don't worry," Trip replied, grabbing a dermal regenerator to close the wound, "you won't even have a scar. Unless you want a reminder of your first undercover op."

Simmons rolled her eyes when he gave her a wink, but forgot her exasperation when she saw Fitz reach for the tray containing the data crystal.

"Fitz!"

He turned to her, tray in hand, with raised eyebrows. Simmons swallowed.

"Fitz," she started, "I can, um, I can clean it off for you, if you'd like. No need to handle my, uh, residue."

Fitz looked at the tray, then at her, then put the tray back and walked away, frowning. Simmons shot Trip a worried glance.

"He's had a hard time," Trip whispered, and Simmons felt her stomach sink. "Fitz," he continued at regular volume, "engineered a device that stops the Hydra agents from transforming. He had to build it from scratch on the way here, based off the intel you gave Coulson. Sends out a jamming frequency." Trip shot a glance at Fitz, who shrugged, then turned back to Simmons. "These cuts are almost gone. But, I would advise a change of clothes, Lieutenant."

She gave him another eye roll in exchange for his second wink.

* * *

**Stardate: 35122.6 (Earth, 24 years, 8 months, 7 days before)**

 

_Dear Jemma,_

_Today, I had to teach you not to call your father "imzadi," or as you pronounce it, "mizari," which is quite the opposite of the intended meaning. You call him that because you hear me say it so often, but what you don't understand is that an imzadi is a very special kind of person. One day, you will have a beloved of your own. You may not choose to marry yours, as I did. You may not choose to marry at all. I hope you do, though. Humans like to say that life is short, but it's the longest experience I'm capable of remembering! If you ask me, we are allotted far too much to time to hoard it all to ourselves. Not when there is so much joy in sharing._

_No matter what you decide, my Jemma, I take comfort in knowing that you will never be alone as long as I'm here._

* * *

**Stardate: 59804.8 (Romulan space, 3 hours after)**

 

It was odd to clean one's own blood off a piece of technology. Simmons inspected the sterilized data crystal, knowing this would be even more unsettling for Fitz.

"Is that Hydra intel?"

She turned her head to find Donnie (Cadet Gill, she reminded herself), crouching at her elbow. She gave him a smile.

"Yes, have you seen one of these before?"

Gill inspected the crystal and shook his head.

"Well, that's because it's not Starfleet issue," she explained, "it's Idanian, originally. Fitz repurposed it, made it more suitable for use by undercover agents."

Gill frowned. "I bet he never thought _you'd_ have to use it."

Simmons gave him a sad smile. "No, I'd think not. At the time, we never thought we'd leave Earth, much less travel the quadrant on dangerous missions. But it proved to be useful. Just like all of Fitz's inventions."

She was going to continue when she heard a rustling to her left, and she found Fitz standing in the doorway. How had she not heard him come in? She hoped, at least, that he'd heard what she said. She hoped he didn't hate her.

She'd never forgive herself if he hated her.

"Do you . . ." Fitz stammered, "are you ready for me?"

She gave him the brightest smile she could manage and waved him over. "Yes, I think so. Hopefully it didn't get too damaged."

Fitz took the crystal when she offered it, only glancing at her briefly before getting to work, and Cadet Gill immediately moved to watch over his shoulder.

Simmons took in a breath. "I'll just leave you engineers to it, I guess."

Then, out of something that she wouldn't quite call desperation, she sent him a telepathic message.

 _I missed you_ , she thought. _I missed you so much. Tell me you missed me, too._

It might have been her imagination, but she thought she saw him stiffen in response. But there was no way he could have heard her, she reminded herself. Not with a fully-Human brain.

She kept reminding herself of the fact for at least another two hours.

* * *

**Stardate: 37616.0 (Earth, 22 years, 2 months, 8 days before)**

 

_Dear Jemma,_

_I have hidden myself away in the garden, because I am angry enough to say some things that your father will never forgive. Can you believe that he is jealous, simply because our neighbor has fallen in love with me? I keep telling them both that people fall in love all the time, and it hardly matters since I have made (and kept) a promise to your father. But they seem determined to fight about it. Humans think they are so evolved these days, simply because they've managed to eliminate poverty and disease. Oh, I don't mean any offense, child. I know that you belong to them as much as you belong to me, and I love the Human part of you. All I mean is that you should never judge someone for how they feel. We don't choose how we feel, so how can that be fair? If you must judge someone, judge them for what they do with their feelings. Granted, maybe certain people shouldn't make certain offers to certain married women, but I don't see why a calm, rational discussion is off the table at times like these._

_I can't tell you how relieved I am to know that you are with your grandmother today._

_P.S. It occurs to me that the Human part of you might think it unwise to admit that your father and I fight on occasion. It's one of the many things that make the Human mothers raise their eyebrows at me. But I am a Betazoid, and Betazoids are not afraid of inconvenient feelings. One day, you will fight with your imzadi, too. And I will teach you not to be afraid of fighting, as long as you are fighting for your love, and not against it. As long as you keep fighting for love, you'll find it. I did._

* * *

**Stardate: 60244.4 (Starbase 616, 5 months, 10 days after)**

 

She sat on the floor of their lab like a child, watching the mutiny unfold. But she couldn't help but be aware of his presence beside her, and even though they were long past broken, she had a feeling that something was very right.

Except, not quite.

He wasn't looking at her, and the silence between them had been stretching out for months. But it was the lack of emotion that made the moment feel so empty. He'd been closing himself off from her, shutting her out, and she almost wished that she could blame him for it.

Still, maybe if she got closer . . .

She hesitated before placing a hand over his, and was immediately rewarded with a flurry of emotion that felt delicious. It evaporated quickly, but she savored the taste of it. Before she really knew how to react, he piled his hand on top of hers.

She stared at his hand for a minute before meeting his eyes, and she suddenly felt ashamed as she realized that this was a romantic gesture. Still, he'd been so far away for so long, she couldn't bear to pull away.

"Fitz," she started.

"Hmm?"

"Can we . . ." the words were slippery, and she stumbled to find them. "Can we be friends again?"

His eyes bored into hers, and she let them, feeling as if her hands were in the air rather than sandwiched between his.

Just when she could bear it no longer, he tore his gaze away, staring instead at their hands.

"When you left," he began, this time without the bitterness of similar conversations. "I know I already asked you why, but were you, uh, were you trying to get away from me?"

She couldn't look at their hands then, as her thoughts gained speed and swirled in her head like a tornado. She'd been trained to lie, but there was a voice inside of her, one from telepathic memory, that made her tell the truth.

"I didn't think I was," she admitted. "I thought I . . . well, I didn't have a choice, really. But I thought I was helping, truly."

She searched his eyes and, to her astonishment, found a sliver of understanding. He let out a breath and nodded.

"Okay then." It almost came as a whisper, or maybe a prayer. "Of course we're friends."

She was too happy to do anything other than wrap him in an embrace and hold him tight.

And for the first time in months, Jemma didn't feel alone.

"Are we going to be alright?"

Fitz's hand went up and down her back.

"Well," he answered, "I don't know. Gonzalez made quite a mess."

She pulled back to look into his eyes.

"But _we_ will be, won't we?"

He broke eye contact, and she had to take in a breath. She was so close to him, closer than she'd been in months, and if he'd only let her read him—

"Yeah, Jemma. Of course we'll be okay."

She found herself crashing back into him, pulling him closer, longing to give him the kisses she couldn't give him when they were floating in space, but managing to restrain herself.

She finally had her best friend back.

And that, in itself, seemed to make all the pain and anguish of the past ten months fade away. If that, _all_ of that, was the price for having him back in her life again, she'd pay it a thousand times over.

But it was more than that, too. Somehow, she'd come out of this mess, not just with him, but with a missing piece of herself. Sometimes, it seemed, you had to take something apart before you could truly understand what it was. And as she ran a thumb across Fitz's knuckles, still sitting in the center of chaos, she felt a calm that strangely made sense, and a warmth that she'd once sensed in Fitz. It was like the feeling from the book, in a way. It had the same strength and intensity. But it was also different.

Because the warmth was coming from her own heart.

And she decided that, this time, crying was a perfectly acceptable response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are references from various Star Trek series and movies scattered throughout this work, as well as references from other things. I lost track of them all at some point, so I thought that instead of going through and listing them, why don't we play a little game?
> 
> For every (non-AoS/MCU) reference you find and tell me about, I will reply with a sentence from an upcoming fic! 
> 
> (Is that fun? Hopefully that's fun.)

**Author's Note:**

> I regularly post sneak peeks and general ramblings about my writing on [my tumblr](http://agent-85.tumblr.com/tagged/Writings%20of%20Agent%2085).
> 
> You can check out deafwizards' awesome art on [her Tumblr](http://deafwizards.tumblr.com/) as well!


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